


Make My Wish Come True

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: Grantaire's taking a break from the Christmas party, but the fire escape is about to get a little more crowded.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the tumblr audio post of "All I Want for Christmas Is You" [playing in another room](http://largecat.tumblr.com/post/153455998554/mariah-careys-all-i-want-for-christmas-is-you).
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone.

Grantaire huddled on the fire escape and wished for a cigarette, for snow, for another beer. Snow, at least, would do something to break up the gloomy gray monotony of the sky and the street below. He probably should have brought his coat.

He could hear the muffled din of the holiday party through the window. Combeferre was teaching Joly and Bossuet to play dreidel, Bahorel and Feuilly were draping the tree and each other in tinsel, Jehan was baking something, and Courfeyrac was weaving through the crowd being an exuberant host. But above everything rose that stupid song—again, and again, and again. He wasn’t going back inside, not while it was still playing. He could appreciate most Christmas music, and he even enjoyed a few of the more melancholy medieval carols, but that song was an abomination unto the world. The anti-Christ of Christmas music.

Someone pushed the window up, letting out a burst of heat and noise.

– _ore than you can ever kn—_

The same someone crawled out through the window and slammed it closed again, blessedly cutting off the music.

Grantaire canceled his wish for snow and exchanged it for wishing that he didn’t recognize Enjolras by the smell of his conditioner.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a slow cloud of steam. He waited for something to happen, but the silence stretched out between them, thinner by the second. So Grantaire did the only thing he could think to do—he started talking.

“Did you come out here to hide, too? Someone ought to let Courfeyrac know that the John Mullaney thing is only funny in the telling. And even then, they mixed it up after six or seven plays. This is the twelfth time, Enjolras. The _twelfth_. I’d kill for an ‘Always Be My Baby’ right now.” He cut himself off, recognizing that his mindless chatter was verging on a ramble.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said.

For a moment, Grantaire couldn’t even parse the words. He turned to look at Enjolras and found him sitting cross-legged beside him, looking down at his hands in his lap. Grantaire turned the words over in his mind and gave up. “You’re sorry? What for?”

“I asked him to play it,” Enjolras mumbled.

“You _what_? Oh, Enjolras, how could you?”

“Once! I asked him to play it _once_. I thought maybe if the words were already out there, in the air, that it would be easier.”

“That what would be easier?”

But Enjolras was still talking, half to himself. “It was the only viable option. ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ is frankly horrifying, so that was out. Courf suggested mistletoe, but I hate the—“

“—implied lack of consent involved in a social contract that makes standing in a certain place an invitation to sexual harassment.”

Enjolras broke off. “Oh. You heard that.”

“Everyone in the café heard it, Enje. Your voice carries.”

“You were listening, though. I mean—you don’t always seem to, um—“

“I was listening,” Grantaire said. His voice came out soft and a little too sincere, so he leaned back on the fire escape, letting the cold metal grate bite into his palms with a sharp, grounding pressure. “Though, for what it’s worth, some people do have a blanket-consent arrangement. You know, like—whatever you want, whenever you want it, with safewords determined in advance, of course.”

Enjolras just stared.

“Oh, god. I broke you. I started talking kink and I broke you.”

“You didn’t _break_ me. I’m aware of the conventions of consent in a non-traditional relationship. I just—hadn’t thought of it like that.”

Grantaire tossed him a sharp grin. “That’s what you keep me around for, right? The contrarian point of view.”

“That isn’t true, and you know it.”

“I do?”

Instead of explaining, Enjolras just shook his head and leaned forward, resting his arms on the rail. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he said after a moment.

“Really?”

“Of course. I know you don’t care much for the holidays, but I’m glad you came anyway. It wouldn’t have been right if you weren’t here.”

“Every party needs a cynic,” Grantaire agreed. “And every cynic needs a drink.”

“And yet here you are, no drink in sight.”

“An error on my part. But I refuse to go back inside while that damn song is playing, so here I sit.”

“I see.”

“So that’s why I’m out here. But what about you? I know for a fact that the people inside are _much_ better company than I am, so what brings you out here in the cold?”

“I’m here because I want to be,” Enjolras said, in an insistent tone that usually only happened in the midst of an argument.

“All right, sorry. I can go inside if you—“

“No, don’t,” Enjolras said, turning to face him. “That isn’t what I meant. I don’t want to chase you away.”

Grantaire frowned. “Then I’ll stay, I guess.”

“Good.”

Grantaire settled back down on the grate, but Enjolras’ movement meant that their shoulders were touching now, and there was no way for Grantaire to move away without _looking_ like he was trying to move away. Then Enjolras would ask what was wrong, and they would have an argument, and Grantaire, in his frustration, would probably yell something like _because it hurts to be so close to you_ and then Christmas would be ruined.

But Enjolras hadn’t moved away from him. If anything, he was _closer_ , leaning against Grantaire like he might lean casually against any one of his friends—but he had never done that with Grantaire. Despite the cold air, Grantaire felt like his whole body was on fire. He took a breath to slow the pounding of his heart. “So,” he said. “What did you want for Christmas, Enjolras?”

He sighed, a noise of frustration that Grantaire all too well. “Do you _really_ not know?”

“Well, worldwide justice is kind of hard to buy, and then how do you even wrap it? So I wondered if—“

Enjolras leaned forward, as though in slow motion, to brush a kiss against Grantaire’s cheek. “You. All I want for Christmas is you.”

Grantaire blinked. Enjolras’ words seemed to ripple through his mind in a slow wave. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe he’d fallen asleep on the fire escape, and this was a hallucination to ease his slow descent into a frozen death.

Enjolras’ face had gone red, brighter than the knitted reindeer on his Christmas sweater. “I—I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Grantaire had never heard him stumble over his words before. “I shouldn’t have…I thought, but I must have been wrong, and I—“

Grantaire closed the space between them again and pressed his lips to Enjolras’. Enjolras lifted one hand to curl against Grantaire’s jaw, a perfect cold palm-print against his heated face.

Grantaire pulled away. “You weren’t wrong.”

Enjolras smiled and let his hand fall, tangling his fingers with Grantaire’s. Later, they could talk about this—what this meant, what they wanted it to mean, whether Enjolras was allowed to kiss him under the mistletoe ( _yes, yes, always_ ). But for now, this was enough, sitting out on a freezing fire escape with their hands pressed together.

Grantaire leaned back against the window, listening to the sounds inside.

Maybe the song wasn’t so bad after all.


End file.
